Whatsername
by Gingham and Basil
Summary: It is only with one's heart that one can see clearly. What is essential is invisible to the eye.' Antione de SaintExupery, The Little Prince, 1943. Short story dedicated to Sam's Firefly.


**Author's Note: **A Songfic/oneshot done to the lyrics of Whatsername by Green Day.

**Disclaimer:** No,I do not own Whatsername or Harry Stinking Potter.

****

**_Dedicated to Sam's Firefly:_**

**Whatsername**

_When you are left without answers, you find yourself regretting many years later.

* * *

_

_Thought I ran into you down on the street  
Then it turned out to only be a dream_

I was walking down Diagon Alley, bags from Madame Malkins in one hand, and books in the other. They weren't mine, though. I had graduated long ago. Long enough to get married and become a father. A father of one little girl.

But not so little anymore. She's old enough o go to Hogwarts. Unlike so many other parents my age, I do not have that too many fond memories to tell her. What do I say? How I bullied others, got stuck in the hell house, was terrorized by a bastard father, and was forced to try and kill the only great headmaster of this prestigious school? I think not.

So I told her little things. Of the Great Hall. Of Christmas Trees. Of food appearing magically on the long tables, powered by House Elves, and the giant squid. I told her of great teachers, and fun Hogsmeade trips. I told her of the Forbidden Forest, and the widespread grounds. I told her of dungeons and corridors, of moving staircases, and chattering portraits. I told her of secret passwords, and dueling clubs. I filled her head with thoughts of Quiditch games, high towers, and strange Divination Professors. I spun tales of magic classes, and of the multiple kids her age. Not of the Sorting Hat, though. That would lead to a question of my house. I wasn't ready to answer that just yet.

And then, as she took my hand, and was about to point to the Quiditch Shoppe window, a figure caught my eye. I whipped my head around, hoping that the face, the hair…that it was **you.** But I looked again, and it certainly wasn't.

Because where you were, where I thought you had stood, was nothing but an empty alley. A dream.

_  
I made a point to burn all of the photographs  
She went away and then I took a different path_

I remember standing by the fireplace in my small London apartment, Floo fireplace dusty and unused. Now it was only a burial ground. I wished my eyes would blur with tears as I threw the pictures into the flames…but I was dry for once.

I remember the ink and paper smoking and curling, shriveling up, a foretelling of my heart. A picture is worth a thousand words, they say.

And yet, the only words I hear are "Goodbye." Without as much as a backward glance, or a reason as to why you left.

When you left, I moved on, you know. We all have to. I wasn't going to be weak and spend my days pining.

So I moved on in the best way I could. I fell in love again. And she is wonderfully full of laughter and life, and full of love. Not like the cold you. Not like the wandering traveler you call a heart. Not like you, with your notions of ancient ruins and going off, to leave everyone behind.

Maybe it was hard for you to live in this world, and maybe we didn't understand. But did that mean you had to go, without as much as a goodbye?

My wife is wonderful, I'll have you know. You might not remember her. But her name is Susan.

And my girl. My child. I look at her and cannot imagine her without her long black hair or gray eyes. I can't imagine her with any other kind of hair. A brown. A stray curl.

But she has none of that.

_  
I remember the face but I can't recall the name  
Now I wonder how whatsername has been_

Sometimes I think I'm losing my mind, because I can't seem to remember what I called you. What was your birth name? Is it changed? Or are you lying dead somewhere?

I wouldn't know. I don't remember what your name was.

But I know what you look like.

A delicate face, curly brown hair, hard eyes. I remember how short you were, five foot six, how you would bring me along to the library so I could get the books on the top shelf for you. Sometimes I wondered why they made the shelves so tall.

But now I just think of how long your shadow is. How your shadow affects me. For instance, when Susan said how she wished always to have curly hair. I winced and told her straight hair was beautiful. Or how she wonders what our child would look like with brown eyes, and if it would clash with her black hair. I told her that the child was fine, that brown was an ugly color.

I meant it, I thought.

But now I just find myself wondering how you are.

_Seems that she disappeared without a trace  
Did she ever marry old what's his face?_

I never hear about you anymore. I never see you in the Daily Prophet. A part of me wishes, just so that I could read what your name was, and have my mind click and say, "Oh yes, **that** was her name…". A part of me says that it is better to forget.

Did you ever marry that guy, I wonder? The one with red hair?

_I made a point to burn all of the photographs  
She went away and then I took a different path  
_

I can still smell the smoke on my clothes, you know. It reeks of a past I wish I could forget. Susan wished to know why I have only a few photographs of me right after Hogwarts. I tell her I was camera shy.

The truth is that most of those photographs are burnt.

You were in them.

And now, I am married. I always imagined **we** would. But, then again, doesn't everybody think that about their own trivial relationship? Doesn't everybody think "This is the one?" and then when they finally find them, they are blind and shocked and lovestruck. Ah, but it is all for the best.

I am quite sure, that if we married, we would be miserable. You were untamable, I was stubborn. You wished to see the world, and you wished to escape the confines of the world, after seven year of lock down in the school, and in the company of your two guy friends. How they kept a watchful eye on you.

And when you wished to move to Tokyo, to collect ancient texts, I broke down. We had moved into five different apartments in the last two years, in three different countries.

You always moved, and I wished we would stay.

_I remember the face but I can't recall the name  
Now I wonder how whatsername has been_

I wrack my brain to remember your name. But all I come up with is Harry and Ron. And I can't call them, no. They would yell or curse and tell me to bugger off. As if I didn't feel bad enough.

I think it's for the best, that I don't remember the name I would write on Valentine cards, on Christmas gifts, on birthday messages. The name I would whisper when I was scared of frightened or tired or sad. The name I would yell in frustration when I was mad, the name I would laugh when you tried one of your antics to make me feel better. The name I whispered when you walked out the front door, into the waiting Night Bus.

And yet I wonder how you are.

_Remember, whatever  
It seems like forever ago  
Remember, whatever  
It seems like forever ago  
_

I can't remember, but it doesn't matter, now does it? Who do I think I am, staring at the empty alley, wondering about the name of a former lover? I have a child now, Merlin dammit.

I have a life. I have a love. I have a wife. A family.

And yet all I think about is you.

Oh, you. "You" is now associated forever in my mind with a bookworm. With a love long lost. A love past. A life past. A day in a week in a month in a year of a relationship that blew out like a flame on a candle, snuffed out by a whim.

Snuffed out by time.

Snuffed out by the ages.

That was so long ago.

_The regrets are useless  
In my mind  
She's in my head  
I must confess  
_

I have regrets, I admit it. I confess.

Sometimes I regret ever meeting you. And sometimes I regret letting you leave. There were **so** many things I could have done. I could have taken your hand, told you we could work it out. Say I would follow you to the end of the world. Kiss you. Ask why you feel the need to travel, when all you need is right here. Say that it would be okay.

But I stood there.

But would I regret having you stay, if I somehow found out about a life I would never have? Would I miss the child, the wife I have now?

I realize I would never have them if I had you.

We can't have two lives as much we wish.

You can only chose and make the best out of whatever choice you decided one. Whatever you staked your future on.

A gamble, to be blunt.

_The regrets are useless  
In my mind  
She's in my head  
From so long ago_

Yes, the regrets are useless. I have what I have. I have a daughter wondering why her dad is staring at dirty trash cans and shadowed walls when in front of him is a window full of the best items in the world, in which she is wonderfully chattering on about. I smile for once. I know that whatever happened, it can't replace the present.

From whatever happened long ago, whatever was there, were ever you were, it is done.

I should be content.

_(Go, Go, Go, Go..)  
_

Go, says the voice in my head. Go and bring little Maria inside. Show her the model of the broom you rode on. Show her the type of glove best to buy. Show her the way to ride, even though she can't join the school team until next year.

Go, said the voice in my head, as I waited for the chance to propose to Ms. Susan Bones, the woman who at one time had helped Potty fight me. Funny how it happens, doesn't it?

Go, said the voice in my head as she walked right out the door. Go, it said. Go and stop her. But I didn't. I stood still, and when the wheels of the night bus started, I tried to move. But for once I couldn't react.

_And in the darkest night_

There are times were I lie awake at night, eyes open, listening to breathing of Susan. I hope, in those long hours, the night doesn't swallow me up.

_If my memory serves me right  
I'll never turn back time  
_

And if I remember correctly, I am now I father. I am now the father of one very confused and irritated little girl. I am the husband of Susan Bones-Malfoy, husband of the witch who helped defeat Voldemort, of the witch who avenged her family, the husband of the Minister of Magic.

Not the husband of some traveling book-witch. Not that that's wrong. I hope you are happy, were ever you are. I hope you have found al the love you can. I hope you aren't like me, torn in two.

I hope you aren't forgetting, like me.

_Forgetting you, but not the time._

I hope that somewhere, out there, you are safe. Because I never hated you. I only loved you, I only pined away, despaired.

But hate is such a strong word, I can't bear to use it.

Sometimes I make myself remember what your favorite color was. Your favorite fruit. What time you woke up. What your nightgown was made of. What you did for a job. How you reacted to surprises. How you laughed. That is what I can't remember.

And now, as I finally awaken, and the daughter smiled as her father finally stops daydreaming, I have but one question. One little thing, nagging my mind.

It wasn't been answered. It hasn't been breached. Nobody has swum near it, to surface in its swirling mass of mystery.

I have but one question.

Why did you leave?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yet again, dedicated to Sam's Firefly, for my survey-thingy-ma-bob from _**I Am Just A Flea**_. Not exactly a oneshot, but the longest non-multiple chapter story so far...I think. Draco/Hermione, if you didn't guess. I can't use her name, well...because, then...what would be the point of the song? 


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